January 6th, 2023
I grew up taking baths.
This is a weird way to start an essay, but I’m going somewhere with it.
Our first house in Minneapolis had a tub (pictured here). The A-frame in East Bethel had a tub (which was disgusting, like the rest of the place). And when we moved to Faribault in the middle of the third grade, we found ourselves in a house that was built in 1890 and acted like it, a castle holding a tub on the second floor that my entire family had to share. (Not at the same time.)
The only occasions I used a shower before I turned 18 and moved out was outside my home, so I showered rarely.
Because of this, I am amazed, impressed, and simply enchanted by almost every facet of our modern world.
Our lives are relative. We are born into a world that is a certain way, and it progresses, for each of us individually, from that point.
I was born without the internet. At least, the internet we have today. I am astounded every day by what we can do with it, because I remember a time when it did not exist at all. Same goes for cell phones. Digital cameras. Any kind of media streaming.
Having a solid knowledge of my history, human history, and how civilization has progressed only emphasizes how I feel:
I am just perpetually overwhelmed by how extraordinary the world we live in is.
And I am still in awe of my shower.
Every time I turn on my shower, it is sincerely magical to me. You grow up and your world is one way, and it’s impossible sometimes to imagine it any other.
I never thought I would have a metal pipe that poured water on my head.
And I do.
And every time it does, it reminds me it doesn’t matter that a large number of people on this planet seem to be so unimpressed, so ungrateful, so shallow, all the time.
I am impressed. I am grateful. My life is enough.
The world is a fucking magic show. Rabbits and levitation and fireworks.
And we — you and me — are the magicians.